


A Nightmare

by diabla616



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Antivan Crows, Fic or Treat Meme, M/M, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-08 00:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21226472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/pseuds/diabla616
Summary: Fic or treat 2019 gift for Aurlana.





	A Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurlana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurlana/gifts).

Everything is a little hazy when Alistair wakes up, disorientated from the fight - _what fight? _He thinks, a little panicked _I don't remember a fight - _

He's not in camp; in fact he isn't anywhere familiar.

"Good, you're awake" a voice says, somewhere off in the distance. Alistair blinks through the fog, startling when he realises he _recognises_ her.

Through that filter, the rest of his surroundings fall into place; a run-down house in Denerim's market district, a half-sister he'd met for the first time three days before, and the lingering sense that something about all this _isn't quite right_.

"Oy!" Goldanna shouts at him, "are you getting up or what? There's work to be done!"

And, well, Alistair has always responded well to orders, so somehow it's easier to drag himself upright to face whatever needs doing head-on.

Only there's that low-level sense of _wrong _again, like a flashback to the Templar training he never completed, and when he thinks about it - _especially when he thinks about it -_ he can't remember why he's here at all.

He'd been - somewhere else, doing something else. They hadn't even been in Denerim at all - _had they? _It's all a little hazy.

"If you're not going to help, what use are you?" She snaps, and that jogs Alistair's memory. She'd said that last time, and Brosca- 

"Get used to it," he'd said, gruff, but not unkind exactly, "everyone wants something. It's how the world works."

And so they'd left, Alistair burning with humiliation at the thought of so much time spent searching for _someone_, only to find that family meant nothing to her.

It's the anger which follows that sense of humiliation that finally makes it click; he'd _left, _he had no intention of returning- _this isn't real._

Goldanna marches up to him, close enough to look him in the eyes. She's shorter than him, but not by much. _There's the family resemblance_ he thinks ironically.

"Hmm," she leans in closer still, Alistair steps back, and in the split-second they're closest together the light hits her eyes _wrong_ and Alistair is convinced he sees them glow.

"Not this one then," she says, and before he can react to that, the room _melts_ and everything goes black.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's hot when he next wakes, and oppressively humid. He's in some sort of warehouse, behind a few haphazardly-stacked crates. The smell of leather hangs in the air, almost as pervasive as the heat. Across from him are a group of people, three or four at least, all dressed in black. The crates hide most of the group from view, but they hide him better, enough that he can lean forward into the gap without much fear of being noticed.

When he does get a better look, his heart sinks. At least one of the groups is achingly familiar, and while the others aren't, the uniform certainly is, in context.

_Antivan Crows_.

The tallest of the group, clearly the leader has Zevran restrained, while two other Crows in feathered masks keep watch. He’s talking to Zevran in a low tone, heavily accented but in Common, while the other two occasionally make comments. Alistair hears snatches of the conversation. Zevran is silent, and when Alistair risks creeping a little closer the reason is obvious.

He’s _terrified._ The Zevran Alistair knows, has travelled with for months now, is almost unrecognisable, nothing but naked fear on his face.

“You really thought you were enough to be a Crow?”

One of the masked Crows laughs cruelly, and Zevran shakes his head, panicked. Alistair’s gut churns when he notices the blade in the tallest man’s hand, which he brings slowly under Zevran’s chin. Zevran doesn’t move a muscle, even for this.

"You aren't enough little bird. We will be doing the Crows a service when we rid them of you."

“_No!_”

It’s enough for Alistair; “Zev, you’re already a Crow. This is a trick!”

The Master turns to him, cruel smile still in place.

“_Vedi,_ Zev. Your Prince in shining armour is here.”

He sees something like recognition dawn in Zevran’s eyes,

“What a shame it is too late!”

And all Alistair can do is watch as the blade slides across Zevran’s throat, as Zevran reaches weakly for him in his last seconds;

“_Alistair!”_

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_"Alistair!" _

Something's shaking him, somebodies hands on his shoulders, and when he opens his eyes he's _finally_ back in his own tent.

"What-" he starts, then has to clear his throat a few times before continuing, "What happened?"

"You were screaming, _amico, _and not the good kind either."

Zevran punctuates this with a wink which makes Alistair blush, though right now that's preferable; to see him safe and well and annoying here.

"Come, a little fresh air I think, no?"

"I'm sorry for waking you."

Zevran looks at him, a little sheepish then shakes his head.

"It is nothing, _amico_, truly I was not sleeping either. The Fade had her own terrors for me this night."

Alistair turns at that, surprised; "you too?"

"What happened?" Brosca looks freshly-woken, but alert, Carta dagger in hand ready, "you screamed loud enough that we heard you from the other side of camp."

His eyes widen slightly, the only tell that he's given away something in that, though Alistair, who was studiously avoiding the knowledge that he'd come from the direction of Morrigan's tent to investigate the noise anyway, tactfully says nothing.

"A nightmare, nothing more."

"Well," Morrigan comments from behind the Warden, "'tis All-Souls tonight. The Fade is closer these nights. _Do_ sleep well, won't you?"

"Perhaps we should share a tent the rest of this night," Zevran comments from entirely too close by, "to ensure neither of us is bothered furthered by nightmares?"

Alistair narrows his eyes, "are you just trying to get me into bed with you?"

"Oho! So astute!" Zevran laughs, then, softer

"And if I were?"

Alistair pretends to think about it for a minute, fighting back the urge to smile at Zevran's feigned indignation.

"I think that might be safest." he concedes eventually.


End file.
